


melancholy man

by solipsist



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: CSA implied, Depression, Gen, Religion, mild violence, reversed roles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:42:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24756487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solipsist/pseuds/solipsist
Summary: Thoughts concerning a Father-God and a Billy-God. Waylon Park is fairly evil and fucked up. This is the singular timeline where nobody loses their penis.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	melancholy man

_i think some1 higher up is getting suspicious… so im trying to stay under the radar for the time being.  
_ _i hate it when capitan autism is right. i did some digging, turns out he did have a wife and there are multiple (but dropped??) cases against jb. idk what to do with this information but…. its here now._

_maybe i should try to find more information about this place. its sketchy enough as it is. there’s a five year gap in the medical records for ca too. from when he shot up the church and was admitted here. there’s_

The BlackBerry issued to each orderly buzzes against his thigh. Presumably, someone had been martyred for pudding again. 

CTRL X

These closing thoughts fire in the synapses of Eddie’s skull. Pity for the beast. Disgust for the man brought here all these years ago. A miserable spark of rage for the faceless that order the brains of the weaker to be destroyed. And that miserable spark of rage dies out, replaced with a sadness. This sadness belongs to no one, not even to Eddie. It blooms like a cloud inside, encompassing every event he’s lived through and every person he knows. 

And the wooden stairs threaten rot. Eddie imagines one day he will crash through the stairs and he will die, his heart impaled on a wooden board. Waylon Park will be there to stare lifelessly at him, the way he always does when he sees something he doesn’t like. And then there will be nobody left for Waylon Park. 

Inside the cloud of sadness is a great nothingness. And that is what makes the machine more alive than Eddie. 

There might not even be a heart to impale when he falls. 

It’s almost unfortunate there’s no death to be found. Only a window punched open and an obvious trail of blood. Waylon’s moments of fear make him too human. It’s always easier to restrain, to clean up, to think of him as a wild animal.   
The hits to the window are clean, his path is obvious, and a faint sound of sobbing carries past him in the wind. Eddie easily climbs to the roof. (there’s a small pleasure found in this - Mount Massive Asylum forms a beautiful maze underneath him and the moon is bright and full.)

Inversely to Eddie’s pity, Waylon was always freer than him. 

His weeping may go ignored, but he will never be subject to questioning his masculinity. Fear and rage are totally unchecked. Love is thought of with no inhibition. Waylon will never feel nor understand shame again. 

Eddie is reminded of this when his face twists into a cringe. 

Waylon is huddled against a chimney. With each sob, his great shoulders heave and tremble - and though his face is buried in his knees, Eddie doesn’t need to imagine the red and puffy eyes. 

He’s not trained for this. He’s never imagined this is where life finds him. 

Animals prefer you get on their level. It’s less intimidating. 

His voice is low and soft. Careful not to frighten the thing: “Hey buddy.”

Through muffled sobs, Waylon speaks - 

“They put me back in the dream machine. I met Billy again.”

The empty sky in Eddie’s chest is starkly broken through with a lightning of pain. The delusions of God are spreading, he knew that, but to Waylon? A pathetic thing like him? He never looked to a God, he never needed a God - so why now? Billy does not show himself to the doctors. Billy does not desire them as disciples. 

Waylon looks up at Eddie with those horrible empty eyes. 

“He told me the hurricane is coming. And nobody’s gonna stop it. And - and when the hurricane hits, they’re going to all think it’s my fault. When it’s my fault when something bad happens, they put me back in the dream machine and I have to meet Billy again and I hate looking at God.”

Waylon is a laughable excuse of a child. 

Eddie reaches out. 

Eddie touches Waylon’s back. 

And Waylon screams. 

The child is gone, the beast reemerges, and there is no hesitation in the mouth that bites down on his forearm. 

When his father switched from synagogue to church, the idea of Father-God has been hammered into his brain since then. 

Eddie’s cry is strangled, a chunk of flesh threatens to rip free, Waylon growls.

Father-God loves Eddie. Father-God will protect Eddie.

There’s nothing inside Waylon to forgive Eddie for an unsteady tranquilizer shoved into his neck. 

Father-God created light. And all of his saints and angels seek to root out the pain and evils of the world. 

He lays on brick roofing, staring up at stars he once might have thought beautiful. 

But as he grew, Father-God was nowhere to be found. Not in the light of his bedroom, not in the darkness of closets he was locked into. Father-God did nothing to protect Eddie from his own father and uncle. And Father-God remained silent as the child Eddie wailed out into the darkness. 

Nothing else happens for the rest of the day. Waylon is handed off to doctors and is presumably in solitary for the remainder of the week. 

In Mount Massive, the Father-God is absent. There is a Billy-God. He is not found in light, he is found in television static. Billy-God never claims to love anyone. Billy-God does not protect the meek. 

Eddie stares at his laptop screen. Caret blinks back at him. 

But Billy-God is there all the same. Billy-God watches from the static and visits the dreams of the downtrodden, promising a hurricane to come. Waylon will be the Jesus to Billy-God, his mind destroyed at the hands of Murkoff. When the hurricane dies down, there will only be Waylon and Billy-God, sitting in broken ruins with empty expressions, their minds serving as a sacrificial lamb. 

CTRL V

_nothing for his first five years until someone started recording new treatments for him and their effects.  
_ _its only an insane theory but whatever happened those five years must have made him into the thing he is today. he’s more beast than human, and the recorded treatments are specifically about culling in his behavior.  
_ _maybe i should give_

Father-God’s hell is devoid of hope and company. Whatever judgement is passed does not matter, the execution remains the same. Gluttons may have their entrails eaten by dogs, suicides may hang from a forest of trees, and the heterics may lie at the bottom of a frozen lake - yet their torture is the same. Eternity alone, eternity hopeless. 

Father-God’s hell is not beyond Eddie’s reach. 

Father-God’s hell is where he lies down each night, struggling to find the words for someone to save him. 

_up on finding the man inside him. whatever murkoff did, it completely eradicated who ca was. i don’t like the idea of caring for a mass shooter but it sounds more redeemable than whatever he is now.  
_ _i don’t have any funny stories this week. i think i’ll take dr’s offer on cocaine._


End file.
